On the beach...
The Bay of Pampelonne is 5 kilometres of sand divided up into public and private beaches. It was also one of the sites for the Provence Landing of 1944 and was soon to be the site for the lesser-known Baconnier landing of 2008.
They told us at the campsite that the beach was just down the dirt track that wound through vineyards and bamboo plantations. It sounded terribly exotic so we set off, me in my glamorous new silver flip-flops and the girls in their micro-shorts and tiny strappy tops.
It was further than we imagined and at one point we had to cross a busy main road. We stood hesitantly on the verge while young men in sleek sports cars sped past, flashing their lights and sounding their horns as my girls giggled prettily. Well, they are gorgeous. I was quite flattered when someone beeped their horn at me - until I realized it was because I was in the middle of the road and in danger of being run over…
When we finally stumbled onto the mythical beach, my feet were bleeding profusely and I had to take off my flip-flops. Walking barefoot on the sand was like walking on shredded Brillo pads but it was either that or lose one of my toes. By this time, the girls had decided I was cramping their style and had gone on ahead. But why were they staring at the ground? Had they suddenly lost confidence in the face of all this glamour?
Then I realized. This was a nudist beach. My girls are not used to seeing so much flesh and so many dangly bits on show, especially when the flesh was a little – how shall I put it? – past its prime. Still, it made me feel better about my own floppy bits.
In fact, a few days later, I came to this beach on my own for a bit of topless sunbathing. At least no-one would bat an eyelid at a pasty plump English woman baring her boobs. Now, my boobs are a little on the large side – let’s say that anyone sitting next to me wouldn’t need a parasol – but surely they wouldn’t draw attention here, would they?
Wrong. After a few minutes of blissful sunbathing, a shadow fell across my body. Then I heard a series of hoarse grunts and a man’s voice murmuring “Oh là là. Oh là là. Oh LA LA!” I immediately hitched up my bathing costume and rolled over. The Pervert of Pampelonne grinned lasciviously and walked away while I opened my book and vowed never ever to go topless again.
Still, I’ve got nice tanned ankles now. Pity I can’t wear the flip-flops…
They told us at the campsite that the beach was just down the dirt track that wound through vineyards and bamboo plantations. It sounded terribly exotic so we set off, me in my glamorous new silver flip-flops and the girls in their micro-shorts and tiny strappy tops.
It was further than we imagined and at one point we had to cross a busy main road. We stood hesitantly on the verge while young men in sleek sports cars sped past, flashing their lights and sounding their horns as my girls giggled prettily. Well, they are gorgeous. I was quite flattered when someone beeped their horn at me - until I realized it was because I was in the middle of the road and in danger of being run over…
When we finally stumbled onto the mythical beach, my feet were bleeding profusely and I had to take off my flip-flops. Walking barefoot on the sand was like walking on shredded Brillo pads but it was either that or lose one of my toes. By this time, the girls had decided I was cramping their style and had gone on ahead. But why were they staring at the ground? Had they suddenly lost confidence in the face of all this glamour?
Then I realized. This was a nudist beach. My girls are not used to seeing so much flesh and so many dangly bits on show, especially when the flesh was a little – how shall I put it? – past its prime. Still, it made me feel better about my own floppy bits.
In fact, a few days later, I came to this beach on my own for a bit of topless sunbathing. At least no-one would bat an eyelid at a pasty plump English woman baring her boobs. Now, my boobs are a little on the large side – let’s say that anyone sitting next to me wouldn’t need a parasol – but surely they wouldn’t draw attention here, would they?
Wrong. After a few minutes of blissful sunbathing, a shadow fell across my body. Then I heard a series of hoarse grunts and a man’s voice murmuring “Oh là là. Oh là là. Oh LA LA!” I immediately hitched up my bathing costume and rolled over. The Pervert of Pampelonne grinned lasciviously and walked away while I opened my book and vowed never ever to go topless again.
Still, I’ve got nice tanned ankles now. Pity I can’t wear the flip-flops…
11 comments:
I remember going to the beach at Canet-Plage and sunbathing topless as I waited for my boyfriend and his friends to arrive. Some perv sat down right next to me, kept trying to talk to me and did not move until said boyfriend and friends arrived. Sunbathing topless with friends around was OK, but when on your own it was apparently asking for trouble . . .
You certainly had a memorable holiday!
almost american - I'm off to Canet-plage in a couple of weeks...and I'll be keeping my swimming costume ON!
sablonneuse - yep. Not likely to forget this one...:-)
OK, OK...as someone "past his prime" I promise to NEVER wear Speedos again...
I hope you're feet are much better.
I remember sunbathing topless in Corfu (eons ago) and an old man put a chair at the end of the sunlounger I was lying on and stared at me for ages. I just held up my book and tried to ignore him.
Phew. Managed to escape unrecognised, one more time...
jonas - come, come...prime is relative after all!
debs - I don't think I would have been able to ignore him - I'm so self-conscious as it is...
roads - thought so... I got suspicious when you broke into a jog. You just can't help yourself, can you? :-)
Roads stalking again, is he, Gigi? Watch out - he probably took a photo of you and it will appear on the top of his blog! Bet we will discover in a couple of weeks time that he was on hols. down where you were! But as you say, he gives himself away by breaking into a jog!
Well, Louise, I suppose it's useful to be able to make a quick getaway when you're stalking. On the other hand, unless Roads had a wide-angled lens with him at the time I don't expect to see my photo at the top of his blog. Anyway, I'm not sure if he has enough bandwidth...
I don't actually know what bandwidth is, you understand, but it sounds technical and computerish so I'll leave it in :-)
Why is it that there are no young fit Adonises on the nudist beaches?
I won't be updating my south of france blog anytime soon, no time, no energy but I'll add your blog to the blogroll of my photo blogs so I can more easily find you..sounds scary!
wow i like beach
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